MARLOWE
Arough hand presses between my shoulder blades, forcing me flat. Someone yanks my wrists back, wrapping them tight with a zip tie, the plastic cutting into my skin. I thrash, trying to kick out, but my legs are pinned down by a knee digging into my thighs.
A sack is pulled over my head, cutting off my sight, and panic swells in my chest. I scream.
“Shut her up,” someone growls.
Something solid connects with my side, knocking the air from my lungs. I gasp, choking on the stale, musty air inside the sack. They haul me up, dragging me over uneven ground. My feet stumble and scrape along the dirt. I have no leverage, no way to fight back.
I don’t know how long they drag me, but eventually, they throw me down again. My bones scream in agony when I land, knocking all the air from my lungs. I hear footsteps retreating, voices murmuring just out of earshot.
The sack is yanked off my head, and I squint against the sudden light. The world swims around me, and it takes a second for my vision to clear.
I’m in a pit. A grave. The walls are just tall enough that I can’t climb out, loose dirt crumbling down the sides. Pain throbs through my head.
I look around and realize I’m not alone.
The older woman from the poker game is slumped against the dirt wall, her hands bound behind her back, her face pale and streaked with tears. She’s shaking, whispering something over and over.
Next to her is another player. I think his name is Jarred. He’s rocking back and forth, muttering under his breath, his eyes wide and vacant.
And on the ground in front of me—oh God—is that another dead body? I don’t recognize him. He’s facedown, blood seeping from somewhere on his head, soaking into the dirt.
I bite down on a scream, choking on the bile that rises up my throat.
A shadow falls over the pit, and I look up. Joel. He’s standing there, grinning, spinning the cylinder of a revolver. The sunlight glints off the polished metal.
“We’re playing a new game today,” Joel announces, his voice low and casual. “It’s called Russian roulette.”
I shake my head, over and over. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. I crumple, sinking to the ground. Pearl Necklace lets out a strangled sob, and Jarred whimpers.
Joel crouches at the edge of the pit, pointing the gun at each of us. “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.” The gun stops at Jarred.
“No, no, please,” he begs, shaking his head. “Please, I didn’t do anything, I swear?—”
Click.
Jarred sobs, relief pouring out of him.
Joel laughs. “Lucky break.” He spins the cylinder again, then points it at him a second time.
Boom.
Blood sprays out from the man’s skull, and he slumps sideways, his head hitting the dirt with a sickening crack.
I scream, the sound of my heartbeat thrashing in my ears.
Joel just grins, wiping a fleck of blood from his cheek. “Tough luck.”
My mind races, but I can’t think straight. I can’t stop shaking.
Joel hums to himself, spinning the cylinder once more. He points the gun at Pearl Necklace, who squeezes her eyes shut, murmuring something like a prayer.
Click.
She whimpers, still alive, still breathing. Joel cocks his head, disappointed.
Then his eyes land on me.
